Undress My Mind
by Coshie
Summary: Hanna, you're beautiful. No scar will detract from that." Lunch is forgotten in favor of some fun. But will the fun be forgotten in favor of wallowing? Hanna/...


A/N: AHHH there's a HinaBN section now! AHH THAT'S SO COOL.  
'kay I'm done.

Enjoy. :3

**u n d r e s s m y m i n d**

It's lunch time, and Hanna has requested grilled cheese. He's chattering away next to me, sitting up on the counter, as I prepare for the meal. The griddle's heating up, and I butter the slices of bread before going to the fridge to get the slices of cheese necessary. He's talking about one of his childhood friends, a girl whose name I don't catch. He mentions something about an aquarium, something about the jellyfish. But I distract myself with the food; Hanna often talks on about nothing in particular to avoid the silence.

I'm not sure why he's afraid of the silence. I think it might be because he's afraid of any awkwardness between us. Ever since that morning last week, he's been a little on edge, I've noticed. He still hugs me tightly, kisses me every morning and evening (often in between), and cuddles next to me on the couch. But he never lets the silence fall between us, as though afraid something terrible might happen.

I don't mind. I enjoy hearing him talk, and he seems to enjoy talking.

It slips past me, but an evil little smile comes over his face. "Hey, Frances. C'mere."

Frances. I take it that's me for now. I wonder vaguely where he comes up with these names. I flip the sandwich before taking a step over to him. Before I can even look up at him, he pulls me forward by the tie and into a kiss.

But I have to break it. "Han--- " He leans forward and kisses me again, successfully cutting off my reprimand about distracting me from what will soon be a burnt lunch. He pulls me closer, hands resting on my lower back. I break away. "Hanna, I need to--- " Another kiss ends another attempt at bringing his attention to the grilled cheese.

It's difficult to say if I really mind. I guess I don't, I finally decide, kissing him back, dropping the spatula onto the counter and pulling him close.

It's only been a couple days since that first kiss. Hanna has become all too comfortable with the idea that he can kiss me whenever he pleases. I certainly don't mind, but I do wish he'd at least consider that the stove is still on.

I reach over and feel for the knob to shut the burner off. The sandwich isn't done, but Hanna doesn't seem to be particularly hungry for lunch right now. A little moan escapes his throat when my hands slide down his back. I find I like hearing sounds like that from him.

"Wanna move to the bed?" he murmurs, breaking away just far enough to talk. I can sense his wide grin. I can't help but smile myself.

I slide my hands under his butt and lift him from the counter. It's good he's so light; it's an easy walk over to the mattress that serves as his bed. I kneel, setting him down. He grabs my tie again and tugs me back with him, and pulls my head down into yet another kiss.

This is where I lost track of time. It might have been five minutes we spent kissing, it might have been thirty. Hanna's hands work quickly to untie my tie and unbutton my shirt. I move to lift his shirt over his head. I can't help but glance down at the scars. I lift a hand to gently trace them.

"Ugly, huh?" he mutters, turning his head. He's ashamed, and I know he is. But he shouldn't be.

"Hanna, you're beautiful," I murmur, kissing his cheek. "No scar will detract from that."

He smiles. I kiss his neck, letting my lips linger; I can feel his pulse, steady and regular. I kiss the soft skin again, enjoying the warmth he offers. I have always appreciated that about him, that no matter how cold I am, Hanna will always be warm and welcoming.

I feel his hands on my back, and I know his fingers are finding and tracing scars and stitches. I think it fascinates him in a way, how many places I have had to stitch up over the past decade or so. It's also a reminder to him that I don't care about any scar on his body – I have enough of my own.

My lips brush over his jaw, and he lets out a small, needy "mm", squirming a little underneath me. I know what he wants, I know what's making him impatient: my lips brushing his cheeks, my fingers dancing over his skin. He's always someone to jump in headfirst, not consider what could happen. But I like to move a little slower; I want to take in everything about him.

Unconsciously, my hand traces the topmost scar. He squirms, but this time, away from me. I lift my hand, scared for a moment I've made him uncomfortable. His cheeks are pink, and there's a bit of worry in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, leaning down to kiss him. He turns his head, and my lips light upon his cheek instead. "Hanna."

"I hate this. Can I put my shirt back on?" He doesn't meet my eyes, and a hand starts groping for his shirt.

"No," I tell him, reaching out and taking his hand. "Hanna, please." Please what? I'm not even sure myself. _Please don't do this_ seems the most appropriate, though. Without even meaning to, I had ruined the situation. "I don't care about the scars." I'm afraid to hear that my voice sounds almost desperate.

He looks at me, but his eyes drop to a scar on my neck. "Why?" he asks. "Why not?"

That almost startles me. I had never considered why I did or didn't care about something. _Because they're on you, your beautiful skin. Because they make you who you are._ I don't know why. "Because I love you." There's a tightness in my chest now, as though whatever is left of my heart is being squeezed by a metaphorical hand.

He's silent. A hand on my back is still tracing a scar, and his eyes are now on a scar on my chest. _I love you_. The words seem to hang in the air, between us, around us. Hanna doesn't say anything, his mouth closed tightly.

"Everything about you," I add, gently touching one of the staples on his chest. He winces. "This." I trace another scar. "And this." I kiss his cheek. "That." My hand arrives at the waistband of his pants. "And I'd love if these were gone."

He cracks a smile, and I'm glad to see some of the worry is gone from his expression. "Hanna, I mean what I say."

"Do you?" He finally meets my eyes again. "Really?"

"I would never lie to you," I murmur. "Not a single word."

His grin widens, and he leans up to kiss me. It's soft, and maybe hesitant, but I'm glad he does, because it makes me remember why I'm here with him in the first place.

"Can I tell you something?" he says when he breaks away.

"Anything."

He gives me a toothy grin. "I knew you'd say it first."


End file.
